The darkness slowly gave way to blurred color and then - a blink of his eyes - a concrete pavement. Nausea churned in his stomach and his head felt strange: slightly dizzy and with an odd, squeezing pressure. An overwhelming sense of disorientation filled him, and it took him several long seconds before he was able to make sense of anything beyond the dizzying, lost feeling.

Swallowing against the nausea and willing himself not to vomit, Blaine tried his best to breathe deeply and slowly, wanting the shakiness and the spinning sensation in his head to pass. He could dimly hear someone talking to him over a dull hum of background noise, but the ringing in his ears and heaving of his lungs made the words impossible to discern. There was a burning pain in his chest that flared up each time he sucked in a breath, like he had a sharp shard of glass pierced through his lung; it didn't seem to be fading like the nausea and dizziness gradually were.

Cold sweat was clinging to his lower back, upper lip, and the creases of his elbows, he could feel it prickling uncomfortably, but couldn't raise a hand to wipe it away. His cheeks felt cold and wet, too; he didn't know why.

The ringing in his ears faded and his hearing suddenly came back, city noise assaulting his ears like it was on a radio that had just been tuned in. He started a little at the burst of sound, his spine jolting in a way that was almost painful. He breathed in again and another pulse of pain stabbed through him.

"Blaine?"

It took him a moment to recognise the name being called as his own and another to realise the concerned voice belonged to his friend, Wes. Though his head was no longer spinning, his thoughts and memories were like thick honey, flowing slowly out from the depths of his mind.

Tilting his head back, he lifted his gaze up from the ground.

"Wes?" he said weakly.

His friend was crouching in front of him, his expression deeply concerned. He looked a little paler than normal and his mouth was drawn into a tight, thin line, his lips bleached of colour.

"How do you feel?" Wes asked him in an almost calm voice containing only the barest tremor. "Is your head ok?"

"I-" Blaine frowned as he tried to make sense of the swirling mess of thoughts and memories in his head. He still couldn't remember what had happened, what had led him to being slumped on the pavement in front of his worried friend. A stray thought plucked from the muddle in his head pointed out that maybe he'd fallen unconscious and that's why he couldn't remember.

"What happened?" he asked, hoping an explanation would trigger a memory.

Wes shook his head, looking rather stunned and a little panicked. "I don't know," he replied. "You were talking and then all of a sudden you just collapsed. It felt like you were out for ages and I was worried you'd hit your head."

Blaine's frown deepened - none of that sounded like the full explanation of what had happened. He wondered if a head injury was the problem.

"I don't think I hit my head," he said, lifting a hand to feel around at the back of his head, pushing his fingers up beneath his hat. "It doesn't hurt anywhere."

"And you can't feel a lump? You don't feel sick or dizzy do you?"

Lowering his hand, Blaine shook his head. "Not anymore, no."

Wes blew out a sigh of relief. "Good. You should still have a doctor look at it, just to be sure." He held out a hand. "Do you think you can stand up?"

The dizziness was completely gone, the uncontrollable trembling had all but passed, and everything in his mind was slowly settling back into place; Blaine was sure he would be fine to get to his feet. He didn't particularly want to sit on the ground for too long.

Accepting Wes' hand, Blaine clambered slowly to his feet, staggering only slightly as he straightened up. He leaned against the wall behind him for balance as his head swam again, but thankfully, the dizziness passed quickly and soon he was looking out over the street feeling almost normal except for the pain in his chest and the cool dampness on his cheeks.

"Are you still alright?" Wes asked him.

Blaine didn't hear him. He was gazing at the buildings across the road, an unsettled feeling and sense of wrong building up inside of him. Something wasn't right.

Dragging his gaze away from the buildings and scanning the cars passing by, the alien feeling increased. A flutter of panic made his stomach clench with unease - why did almost everything look foreign and strange? His eyes drifted to the people walking by them and he blinked at the almost unfamiliar fashions, at the lack of variety in the outfits people were wearing. He didn't understand what was going on.

It hit him with an almighty crashing of a large tidal wave; dozens of memories came flooding to the forefront of his mind.

Kurt, the future, time travel.

Piercing pain sliced through his chest, pain so sharp he slapped a hand to clutch over his heart. The unsettled feeling in his stomach gave way to emptiness, an aching loss that sent him reeling. It was hard not to fall to the ground again and curl up in a ball. He wanted nothing more than to cry like he hadn't been able to back in Kurt's apartment.

Kurt...

He screwed up his face, trying desperately to hold back his tears and pain for a little longer; he couldn't show it in front of Wes.

Dropping his hand from his chest, he forced a neutral mask onto his face, something that took a tremendous effort. From the lingering concern on Wes' face he knew he wasn't doing a good job of acting as though his heart hadn't just shattered, the shrapnel tearing up his insides; like he hadn't just walked away from his dreams, making what was possibly the biggest mistake of his life.

"I'm ok," he told Wes, trying to sound reassuring. "I just felt a little-" He broke off, staring, horrified, at Wes.

Wes had said he'd collapsed and fallen unconscious; to Wes, he'd only been out for a brief moment. It was still the exact same day and time now as it had been before he'd travelled. No time had passed here at all.

The realisation hit him like a heavy blow to the stomach. No time had passed here. It was as if he'd never travelled. What he and Kurt had feared was true. Did this mean his time in the future had been erased? That Kurt would have no idea who he was? The thought was painful, so much so that Blaine was surprised he didn't have any visible wounds, that he wasn't bleeding out onto the pavement. Surely it wasn't possible to feel this much pain and not have it leave a single physical mark.

His knees were shaking so badly he almost collapsed to the ground again. Wes was saying his name, but Blaine could think of nothing but Kurt and how their time together may no longer happen.

But then...

He frowned as he grappled with everything inside his head. His thoughts were still flowing strangely, rushing at him in great dollops of realisation or trickling slowly into understanding. It was difficult to focus when he ached so much and his eyes burned with the tears they fought to shed. He felt like he was screwing up every ounce of his concentration, yet it wasn't enough. He rubbed at his forehead with his hand - hard.

If he still knew about Kurt and remembered his time with him in 2014, then didn't it follow that Kurt would remember him? He couldn't see why only one of them would keep the memories.

"Do you need me to get an ambulance?"

Blaine gave his head a little shake, focusing on Wes again. His friend looked almost scared now.

"No," Blaine said, pushing away from the wall he'd been leaning against and taking a shaky step away from it. "No, I'm fine. I just felt a little light-headed again for a moment."

Wes didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded all the same. "If you're sure. You still need to go see a doctor, though."

"I will," Blaine promised. "Just - no hospitals." He swallowed as he looked at the coffee shop they were standing beside, the sign proclaiming it as being newly opened hanging in the window. "I need to go home and lie down for a bit," he said, turning his back on the café and starting to walk up the street.

Wes caught up to him. "Doctors on the way back," he said firmly.

Beneath the pain and loss, Blaine felt a warm exasperation at Wes' fussing. It was nice seeing him again, he had missed him.

At Wes' insistence, they made a stop at the doctor's office where Blaine got a quick check-up, awkwardly explaining his symptoms as dizziness and having fallen briefly unconscious. With nothing medically wrong with him, he prayed the doctor wouldn't take too long - he just wanted to get home and lie down and not move for hours - and was relieved when after several questions and a couple of quick tests, the doctor said he was ok to go.

As soon as he was home and had been left alone by a still-concerned Wes, Blaine dragged himself up to his bedroom, feeling immensely relieved that his parents were out so he didn't have to speak to them. Dimly, he realised this was wrong - he should be anxious to see them after months of being parted from them - but all he could think about was Kurt and everything else he had left behind.

There was no sense of comfort when he walked into his room. Though his books stood on the shelves, his trophies sat on the dresser, and one of his coats hung on the back of the desk chair, there was no welcoming or homely feel to the room. He immediately missed the room he'd had at Kurt's apartment; a room which felt so much more like his than this one did.

After tossing his hat onto his dresser, he shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the top of the one on the chair at his desk. As he did so, his hand brushed the pocket of his pants, his fingers skimming against some smooth material sticking out of it.

Curious, he pulled the material out, his breath catching in his throat when he saw what it was. It was the navy and red bowtie Kurt had bought him, his favorite of all the ones he owned. Kurt must have slipped it in his pocket at some point.

Holding the bowtie gently, as though it were made of delicate glass, he smoothed it between his trembling fingers. This was solid, physical proof he'd been in the future with Kurt, that the last few months hadn't been a wild dream or vivid hallucination. This was a gift from Kurt he could hold onto, a piece of the man he loved he could keep with him forever. And while seeing and holding it was a painful reminder of everything he'd had and left behind, it brought back all the happy memories which he would remember fondly, and it would always remind him of his love for Kurt should time ever make him forget it.

Seeing the bowtie gave him hope that Kurt would get the pocket watch he'd left for him. If the bowtie had survived the time travel then he couldn't see why the watch wouldn't. He only hoped Kurt wouldn't examine the watch with confusion, having no idea where it had come from. He knew it would be painful for Kurt to be reminded of him, and he never wanted to cause Kurt pain, but he needed Kurt to remember him; needed them to keep that connection with each other.

Acting on impulse, on a sudden strong need for Kurt, Blaine lifted the bowtie to his nose and inhaled deeply. The slight smell of the fabric and, beneath that, the lighted trace of Kurt's scent.

Tears welling up in his eyes and heart clenching painfully, Blaine staggered over to his bed where he collapsed down on top of the covers, curling up into a tight ball on his side with the bowtie still clutched in his fist. Tears fell thick and fast down his face, soaking a spot on the bed under his face. His body shook with sobs and his lungs heaved as he struggled to breathe around it all. It felt like shards of his broken heart were constantly stabbing and piercing inside his chest whilst the remaining pieces that hadn't fragmented away were clinging together with fragile bonds.

After a couple of minutes of crying he tried to remind himself that he had chosen to come back here, he had decided it was for the best that he leave Kurt; he really didn't have much right to be as distressed and broken as this. This did nothing to help, and, in fact, made him even more upset as it reminded him that Kurt had wanted him to stay. He was little better than Liam - they had both walked out of Kurt's life with no plans to ever see or contact him again.

Shuddering violently and somehow crying even harder than earlier - nose running, face damp, red, and blotchy - Blaine pressed his mouth into his arms to muffle the loud gasps and sobs filling the room. He had no idea what time his parents would be back and he didn't want to try and explain his current state to them.

He lay there for what must have been hours - time became meaningless when he was so lost in pain and loss - and eventually he exhausted himself so much he fell asleep. When he woke he felt rather like a wrung sponge, like all his emotions had left him in his tears. He felt hollow and drained, and all he could do was lie there, unmoving, staring numbly at the small section of his bookcase he could see. His face felt raw, the skin beneath his eyes puffy, and his eyes stung slightly whenever he blinked. The spot beneath his face was still damp - he wondered how long he'd cried while he slept.

After a while he became aware of voices sounding from downstairs and realised this must have been what had woken him - his parents were home. He knew he should go downstairs and greet them, knew he should want to do so, but he didn't have the energy to get up, much less the strength and control to act as though everything was normal. Despite having just woken up he didn't feel at all rested; in fact, he felt more tired, more bone-weary, than he had before he'd fallen asleep. He was both mentally and physically exhausted, his body aching from crying for so long and the strain of travelling back through time. All he felt like he was capable of doing was lying on his bed and letting time pass, hoping it would eventually heal his wounds.

It was only when he heard his name being mentioned - his mother saying something about waiting for him to return home before they had dinner - that he realised he couldn't stay curled up on his bed until he felt like moving. As much as he hated the thought of it, he would have to spend time with his parents this evening. If he didn't go downstairs they would eventually check in his room for him and then ask all sorts of questions that Blaine simply didn't have the answers for. He would just have to put on a brave face and hope he could hold himself together long enough to get through dinner before he could fake a headache and return to his room. He was tempted to fake illness now so he could spend the evening alone in bed, but a prickle of guilt stirred in his stomach at the thought of avoiding his parents after he hadn't seen them in so long and had almost left them for good.

With a groan he sat up, his back twinging from being curled up for so long and prickling pins-and-needles flooding his right arm from it being curved at an awkward angle. Shaking it out, he slipped his legs over the edge of the bed and got to his feet, staggering slightly as his leg muscles cramped up. He hobbled towards the bathroom, walking slightly hunched over like a crippled old man, where he stood in front of the mirror hanging over the sink and examined his reflection.

His eyes were red and dull, not a flicker of light or happiness to be seen in them, and the puffy bags under them were red and shiny where they had been damp and rubbed dozens of times over the last few hours. His nose was also red and his lips were dry and cracking. His skin looked blotchy and his hair was breaking free from the gel in places, sticking up in ruffled patches. His clothes were creased and his bowtie was askew. He looked far from the put-together man he hoped to pass as when he went downstairs.

Eyes dropping from his ragged reflection, he reached to straighten his bowtie, pausing when he realised he was still clutching the one Kurt had slipped in his pocket. His heart squeezed painfully as he gazed down at it and he was relieved he had reached the stage where he was beyond crying - he didn't know how long it would take him to stop the tears if they came again. He uncurled his fist from around the bowtie, frowning when he saw it had become creased in his grasp. Reverently, he smoothed them out, before folding it up neatly and setting it aside to take back through to his room.

He suddenly wanted to get dinner with his parents over with. As quickly as he could he straightened his clothes, washed his face with cold water, tidied up his hair, and did his best to school his features into a neutrally pleasant expression. When he was satisfied he looked presentable, he left the bathroom, placed his bowtie carefully on his nightstand, and then headed downstairs towards the sound of his parent's voices.

"Oh, Blaine, dear, I didn't hear you come in," his mother said, glancing up at him briefly as she repositioned the fresh flowers in the vase in the centre of the dining table. "We were wondering when you would be home; we didn't want to start dinner without you."

Tears were burning in Blaine's eyes again and he had to fight to stop them from sliding down his face. Seeing his parents again and hearing his mother's voice brought up a teary joy that, earlier, he'd been concerned he wasn't feeling. Even his father's indifferent nod over the top of his newspaper made a warmth swirl inside of him. Maybe losing Kurt for his family had been the right thing to do after all.

The three of them settled around the table for dinner and talked about their days - a typical family moment that had been absent from Blaine's time in the future. It was nice to listen to his father tell a story about something that had happened at the country club; comforting to hear his mother talk excitedly about some dance she was helping to organise.

And then his mother asked him how his day had been.

Blaine's throat abruptly turned dry and he struggled to swallow his mouthful of vegetables. The pain in his chest, which had dulled to a mild burn since he'd been downstairs, flared up again, crushing and sharp. His stomach felt both hollow and twisted tight, making his appetite vanish. His day hadn't been just a morning and an afternoon; it had been months. He'd seen a whole different world, experienced a different era, had his dreams within touching distance, and fallen in love in this day.

He cleared his throat and tried to hide the fact that his hands were shaking.

"It was alright," he said, doing his best to sound nonchalant. "I didn't do much; just spent some time with Wes."

His mother nodded, but his father frowned.

"You spend a bit too much time with this Wes fellow," he said disapprovingly. "Why don't you spend it with Anna like your mother and I suggested?"

This one comment was enough to remind Blaine of why he had wanted to stay in the future. Over the last few days, while he'd been thinking of returning home, he'd forgotten how much his parents had been pushing him to spend time with a girl called Anna, the daughter of a friend of theirs.

"I- It's been a while since I've had a proper chat with Wes." Blaine's defence sounded feeble to his own ears.

"Nonsense! You were over visiting him only the other day," his father reminded him. He scooped up a piece of carrot with his fork. "Invite Anna out for lunch tomorrow."

Blaine frantically tried to think of an excuse to get out of it, his mind contemplating and discarding several possibilities, until an idea popped into his head, one which would get him out of the lunch date and give him some time alone to try and recover from leaving Kurt.

"I'll give her a call tomorrow morning," he told his father, doing his best to sound as earnest as possible.

His father nodded curtly. "Good." The he turned to his wife and began discussing something to do with his work.

Blaine dropped his gaze to his plate, pushing his carrots and green beans around with his fork and trying to think of the best, most realistic way of claiming he was feeling a bit ill and wished to go to bed.

It was only after dinner was over and his mother was talking about having coffee in the living room that Blaine found the perfect opportunity. When his mother turned to him and asked if he wanted coffee, he shook his head, his face screwed up in a pained expression that he didn't have to fake.

"I think I'll give it a miss. I have a rather bad headache coming on." He motioned towards the stairs. "I think I'll have an early night."

His mother nodded at him. "Ok, dear. Goodnight." And then she wandered off to the kitchen, clearly back to thinking about coffee.

Blaine watched her go, feeling both relieved and disappointed. While he was glad his mother hadn't questioned his headache or was showing too much interest in him when he was liable to break down at any moment, it was rather depressing to be brushed off all the time. It wasn't that big of a deal when he was just claiming a simple headache, but neither of his parents had ever shown any real concern or sympathy whenever he'd been ill or injured, not even after he'd fallen off a horse and bruised his hip and arm so badly he'd been in pain whenever he moved. He'd never thought much of their indifference until now; the stark contrast between how his mother had just reacted and how he knew Kurt would was staggering.

Trying not to crave Kurt's warm embrace and caring kisses too much, Blaine headed upstairs where he quickly got ready for bed. Once the light was out and he was under the covers, he allowed himself to let go of the mask he'd been wearing throughout dinner and all the emotions he'd been fighting to keep repressed rushed to the surface.

He hated how he'd been forced to choose between the most important people in his life. What had he done to make his life turn out this way? He was jealous, unbelievably so, of all the people who had it easy, who fell in love, got married, and had their friends and family over for dinner on a regular basis. Why had he got such a shitty deal in life? Why had he had it so hard right from the beginning? First the creeping, panic-inducing realisation he was different from most people, the horror of understanding why, followed by years of fighting to keep his true self hidden, and then finally seeing hope and falling in love with the most wonderful, beautiful man only to have to choose between what was right and what he wanted. It wasn't fair.

Pillow now damp from tears, Blaine sniffled and rolled over so his head wasn't resting on the wet patch. His gaze landed on Kurt's bowtie and he stretched out an arm for it before letting it fall back down on his bed. It wasn't some bowtie that he wanted to hold, it was Kurt himself, a man who didn't even exist yet.

Curling up into a tight ball, Blaine shut his eyes and willed sleep to come, wanting nothing more than to slip into unconsciousness and escape from his thoughts and memories. It may only be temporary relief, and he knew waking up would be extremely painful, but he needed it more than anything. He needed to get away from the image of Kurt burnt in his mind.

The more he willed himself to fall asleep the more sleep evaded him. He began begging inside his own head, willing his body to give up the fight to stay awake, but it seemed determined to make him suffer through his pain. He kept hoping exhaustion would eventually take him like it had earlier and it finally did, pulling him into an uneasy sleep hours after he'd gone to bed.

When he woke the next morning he didn't think he'd have to fake illness. His throat was scratchy and hoarse from crying, the muscles in his back and legs were cramped from lying so stiffly, his eyes felt heavy and stung in the light coming through the curtains, and his head felt stuffy like he had a cold. Despite hours of sleep he still felt drained and weary and he knew without looking that there were dull circles under his eyes. But worst of all was the return of the memories of where he was and why that hit him like an arrow to the chest when he opened his eyes and saw his bedroom instead of the one in Kurt's apartment. He didn't know if he wanted to go back to sleep so he could forget about it for a while or if he wanted to suffer. Because he deserved all of this pain; he was the one who'd made the decision to return.

When his mother knocked softly on his door asking when he was coming down for breakfast, his croaky voice and the choked cough that escaped when he cleared his throat convinced her that he was ill. She didn't even open his door to see if he was ok, though she did ask if he needed anything; he had to give her credit for that.

Kurt would have fussed over him: made him soup, offered him a selection of books to read, plumped his pillows...

With a groan he rolled onto his back where he stared at the ceiling and tried to ignore the nagging pain in his chest and the insistent urge to burst into tears. He wondered if this was what the books he'd read meant when they talked about heartbreak. In the books a character wept with loss when they discovered the one who held their heart didn't love them, but if this was heartbreak, then the books had never managed to convey the true extent of pain and loss, nor had they mentioned the feeling of wrongness or disorientation. Some might say he was being overly dramatic, but he honestly had no idea what to do with his life now that Kurt was gone from it. Kurt had been the one to light the path of his future and now the lights were out and he was stumbling blindly through the dark once more.

He spent the entire day in bed. At one point around mid-morning the house fell completely still and silent in a manner he knew meant he was home alone. He told himself to take the opportunity to go downstairs to get some food, but he just wasn't hungry. So he never left his bed. Aside from a couple of visits to the bathroom, he stayed in bed all day, curled up beneath the covers, occasionally dozing, and doing a poor job of trying not to think of Kurt or what he would be doing if he was in the future right now. It hurt, and the pain never eased any as the hours ticked slowly by. He cycled through periods where one particular emotion dominated: guilt, loss, fear, worry...

In the afternoon, the regret hit.

Everything he'd ever wanted to do for Kurt or say to him lingered in the forefront of his mind, mocking him. All the dates he'd wanted to take him on, the surprise breakfast in bed he'd been planning, telling him how much he adored that wayward lock of his hair that flopped down over his forehead in the morning and after a long day at work. But most painful was the fact that he'd never gotten to tell Kurt he loved him. He'd come close to saying it so many times, had had dozens of opportunities, but he'd never told him and Blaine hated himself for never plucking up the courage to do so.

Once he'd wallowed in regret and self-hatred for a while he began to wonder if saying those three words to Kurt would have changed his current situation. If Kurt felt the same, he might have stayed, or if it turned out Kurt didn't love him (Blaine's battered heart clenched painfully at the thought), he may have returned to this time a little less heartbroken than he was now. Of course, there was always the possibility Kurt declared his love for him and Blaine still returned to this time where he would suffer even more knowing he had left everything behind rather than a possible everything.

After another two days passed and Blaine showed no signs of leaving the comforting cocoon he'd created in his bed, his mother entered his room and offered to call the doctor out to see him. Blaine struggled upright.

"No," he protested rather bluntly, causing his mother to blink in surprise. "I mean, I'm swell; it was just a cold." He smiled weakly, trying his best not to look like he was still dying inside.

His mother looked slightly hesitant. "Well...if you're sure."

Blaine nodded vigorously. "Positive. I'll be out of bed tomorrow."

His mother hovered in the doorway for a moment, seemingly unsure of what to do, before she smiled and backed out of the room.

Once the door had been closed behind her, Blaine slumped back down against the pillows with a small groan.

Tomorrow he would have to go back to pretending everything was fine and life was swell. He had no idea how he was going to manage it. In spite of the three days in bed he felt utterly exhausted, as if simply being awake tired him out. He didn't know how he was going to find the energy to get through tomorrow - or any day from now on. What didn't help was that he was struggling to sleep. Whenever he settled down and tried to fall asleep his mind would start taunting him with memories of falling asleep next to Kurt, of the feel of his thumb rubbing lazily at his waist, and the sight of him with sleepy eyes and mussed hair. When he did eventually fall asleep, he was yanked back to consciousness not long afterwards, sweating and shaking, his hand reaching across to the empty side of the bed. He could never remember what happened in the nightmares that woke him, but they always left him with a desperate yearning for Kurt and an aching loneliness.

That night, after he'd refused dinner and his room had darkened to the point where he could only make out the outlines of his furniture, Blaine climbed out of bed and walked over to the window on unsteady legs weakened from several days of inactivity. He pulled open the curtains and then leant on the window sill, staring out at the night sky as he had done every night since returning to this time; like he had promised Kurt he would do.

The stars were bright in a large patch of clear sky almost directly ahead of him. The heavy rain from earlier had stopped and the dark clouds had thinned, allowing moonlight to penetrate and cast a yellowish glow in the sky. It was impossible to tell if the stars he was seeing now were identical to the ones that had shone over twenty-first century New York, but knowing that in ninety-one years' time Kurt would be looking up at the night sky and thinking of him was enough.

While he had been doing his best not to think of Kurt as he lay in bed during the day, not wanting painful memories to torture him for hours, he always let his walls down when he was looking at the sky. This hour or so when he gazed at the stars was when he allowed himself to remember the softness of Kurt's skin and the way his eyes lit up to a bright blue upon greeting Blaine after a day at work; how he smelt and the soft smile he wore on his face before they said goodnight. Remembering all of this hurt, but Blaine didn't want to forget it either; he wanted to hold on to as many of the minute details as he could, and if he allowed himself to freely remember during this hour at night then he was hopeful he'd never forget them.

He sighed deeply as he stared at one particularly large star that was flickering by a thin wisp of cloud. He didn't know why he had thought he should come back to his own time; he'd known nothing would have changed, that it would still be as tiring and depressing living here as it always had been. And now he had the pain of losing Kurt and everything else he'd had in the future on top of that. It was truly awful.

He was beginning to think he'd made a huge mistake in returning.

A part of him wished he was one of those people who could easily sever ties with the family who were holding them back and move away to start a new life in their own. A smaller part of him was glad he wasn't so heartless.

Logically, he knew he had every reason to walk out of his parents' lives. They had never shown much affection towards him, wouldn't let him follow his passions, and would most definitely kick him out and disown him if they learned he was homosexual. His parents barely even knew him, yet something still made him hold on to the relationship he had with them and made him unable to follow his heart. Guilt and fear of being heartless and having a little love for his family along with an ingrained habit to follow what was right made him return to this time, and he was sure it was only a matter of time before these feelings weren't enough to keep him going through life here. He knew he would snap eventually and would probably be labelled mentally unstable when he did.

Blaine bit his lip as more pain flared up inside him. It maybe was a mistake returning to this time, but he'd made the decision and had travelled back, so he would have to stick with it. There was nothing else he could do.

Rachel found him some time later. Kurt didn't know what time it was, but the room had darkened considerably, the glow of the city filtering in through the window casting odd shapes on the floor. He hadn't even noticed the time passing. The sun had set, darkness had fallen and he hadn't seen it happen, caught in a trance-like state of numbness where he was feeling so much at once that it was like he was feeling nothing at all, like he had been emptied of all emotion.

He only noticed Rachel when she was kneeling in front of him.

"Kurt? What's wrong?"

She sounded scared, and her fear was what broke him out of his numbness. He blinked as Rachel's worried face came into focus, his breath catching as pain of what had happened slammed back into his body. Blaine's pocket watch was still in his hand, the metal circle digging into his palm. He had a death-grip on it, as if afraid something would try and pry it from him. He could feel the tears still clinging to his face.

"Kurt?" Rachel placed a hand gently on his shoulder and Kurt had to fight the urge to flinch away from her touch.

"He's gone," he whispered.

Frowning, Rachel leant forwards slightly, straining to hear what he'd said. His voice had been barely louder than a quiet exhale, but he couldn't control the volume of it; he was honestly surprised he was able to speak at all.

A shadow of something was beginning to form in Rachel's eyes, behind the confusion and fear currently dominating her expression. "Blaine's gone?" Kurt's body gave an involuntary jerk at her words and her eyes darkened, the confusion swiftly being replaced by rage. "That bastard left you? After everything he said and all the promises he made, he's gone and left you in this mess?" Her voice got louder and higher with indignation and Kurt winced as it pierced his ears, his head immediately beginning to throb insistently.

"No," he croaked out, drawing his legs up close to his chest so he was curled over in a protective ball.

Rachel's furious expression faltered. "No?" she echoed in confusion. "But, you just said-"

Kurt hunched over further, squeezing the watch tight. "Not...like that."

Eyes searching his face expectantly, confusion slowly leaked back into Rachel's expression. She was still frowning and her face was tight with tension. Her chest was rising and falling in shallow breaths and she looked slightly hesitant, almost as if she was afraid of what was to come.

Kurt was finding it difficult and he would really prefer to be left alone, but he needed Rachel to understand. He didn't want her blaming Blaine and screaming abuse at him when he hadn't done anything wrong.

With some difficulty, he sucked in a shaky breath - his lungs weren't working too well. "He didn't want to go," he said. "He really didn't want to go - but he had to."

Rachel shifted slightly. Nearly all of the anger had drained out of her. "Kurt - what?"

Kurt held up a hand to stop her. "Can we not? I- I can't do this just now." Seeing Rachel open her mouth to protest, he fixed her with a pleading look. "Please, Rachel. I can't-"

Rachel nodded. "Ok." She got to her feet, her concerned gaze running anxiously over his hunched-over form. "Ok. We can talk about this tomorrow." She took a step towards the door, and then paused. "Do you- Can I get you anything? Have you had dinner?"

Kurt shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

"Kurt, you should eat someth-"

"Rachel - please," Kurt interrupted, internally pleading her to leave him alone.

"Ok," Rachel said yet again, before leaving the room.

As soon as she was gone, Kurt dropped his head down to rest against his knees, his tears rapidly creating damp circles on the denim. This was a thousand times worse than when Liam had left. With Liam it had only been mainly a feeling of worthlessness and anger at himself, feelings that deep down he'd known would be possible to recover from, but this, what he was feeling now, was something else. This was soul-tearing loss. This was heart-breaking grief. He'd said goodbye to his best friend, the man he was in love with, and his future. And he would never see Blaine again. He couldn't see any possible recovery from this; he'd always have the scars.

Some time later he managed to heave himself to his feet and drag his battered body over to Blaine's bed. His brain was still functioning enough to put him through the motions of stripping down to his underwear, which, had he not been so lost in a fog of pain, would have surprised him. He crawled under the covers and collapsed against the pillow with a groan.

Everything smelled of Blaine. He was surrounded by Blaine's scent here: the familiar, comforting smell was ingrained in the pillows and clung to the sheets. It maybe should have hurt more, lying where Blaine had slept for months, but Kurt knew it was the only place he would be able to sleep.

He curled up on his side, curving a protective arm around his achingly empty chest, and rubbed his cheek against the pillow, releasing more of Blaine's scent. The smell of him in the air and on the bedding was like a comforting embrace, a faint ghost of the warm hugs Blaine used to give him. He knew this little bit of relief was only temporary - Blaine's scent would soon fade - but he would take whatever he could get. He was desperate.

He woke to wind whistling and howling against the window. He automatically stretched a hand out across the bed, searching for the warm body that was never far away. He opened his eyes when his fingers met nothing but cold sheets and a round metal object which he scooped up and lifted out from under the covers to examine.

A gold pocket watch. This was all he had left of Blaine now.

His eyes closed again as the pain flooded through him, making his stomach twist and his face screw up against his tears. He could see this was how every morning for the rest of his life would begin.

The same part of his brain that had enabled him to undress before bed got him up out of bed, into the bathroom, and then through to the kitchen. Rachel was there, sitting at the table and frowning worriedly into a mug of coffee. She looked up when she heard Kurt, her eyes widening in a mixture of surprise, relief, and more worry. She didn't appear to know what to say as Kurt poured himself some coffee on auto-pilot and then sat down opposite her.

The coffee was still swirling around his cup from being stirred - Kurt watched it until it stilled. He cleared his throat.

"Blaine- Blaine went home," he whispered roughly, sounding as though he had a head cold.

"H- Home?" Rachel asked tentatively.

Kurt wrapped a hand around his coffee mug, taking what little comfort he could from the warmth seeping into his palm. "He's gone back to his own time," he said stiffly, the words difficult to get out of his choked-up throat. He shifted his leg jerkily and felt Blaine's pocket watch press against his thigh from where it rested in his pocket. Blaine.

Rachel's face crumpled with sympathy. "Oh, Kurt," she said softly, reaching out to rub at Kurt's left hand where it rested on the table. He barely felt her touch. "I thought-" She hesitated. "I thought he liked it here."

There was a question in there, one which made Kurt's heart twist painfully, threatening to leave him curled up around the remains of his shattered heart in a ball on the floor.

I thought he loved you?

He had to breathe deeply for a moment, trying not to think of it, before he could respond.

"He did, but he felt unnatural here and he missed his family."

I thought he loved you.

Kurt shoved the thought aside, but it was like a latent virus and kept jumping to the surface of his mind whenever his defences were lowered. He knew exactly why Blaine had left and knew it had nothing to do with him. They'd never said the three big words to each other. He may have known for a while now that he was in love with Blaine, but he'd never told him, so what was to say Blaine hadn't been the same? And even if Blaine hadn't been - wasn't - in love with him it didn't mean he cared any less about him or that he never would love him, his feelings could just take longer to develop; they'd only known each other for a few months after all. Blaine leaving had nothing to do with their relationship; he knew this, he shouldn't let himself think differently.

Rachel said nothing, just cradled her mug in her hands.

Tears suddenly pooled in Kurt's eyes. He blinked against them fiercely. "I'll never see him again," he whispered in a choked voice.

Rachel's face softened, her lips parting and her forehead creasing in sympathy. A small sob burst out from between Kurt's tightly sealed lips.

Blaine.

"Oh, Kurt."

Setting her coffee down, Rachel got up and came around the table to the chair next to Kurt's. She sat down in it, shifting it until she was as close to Kurt as she could get. When Kurt inhaled sharply and thickly through his nose, tears now sliding down his cheeks, she put an arm around him, rubbing it and doing her best to comfort him, murmuring that it would be ok.

Body shuddering from crying, Kurt let himself collapse against her side. Her embrace brought him no comfort - she was the wrong shape, didn't smell right, and the hand that rubbed his arm didn't come up to caress his cheek; her body was too soft, her arms weren't strong enough, and she didn't press occasional kisses to his hairline. She wasn't Blaine. Blaine was who he needed and he wasn't here. He never would be, ever again.

Blaine.